


Unconditional

by Isileil



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demon Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:57:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isileil/pseuds/Isileil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly had always believed that her love for Sherlock was unconditional, that he had tested the limits of that love in every way imaginable. When Molly is introduced to the world of the supernatural, life as she once knew it is changed forever. Sherlolly, Demon!lock<br/>(Originally posted to FF.N: Apr 25, 2014)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This does take place in the world of Supernatural with all of the rules of that universe applying. I don't count it as a crossover as there are no character interactions between the two.
> 
> This is un-beta'd and un-Britpicked. That being said, all constructive criticism is most welcome.

It was just another day in the morgue of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. Molly went through her routine, step by step. She was not bored, per se, but work had been slow as of late and a little excitement would have been appreciated. The sound of the doors opening caught her attention and she looked up, half expecting to see Sherlock or Greg entering. Instead, she was met with the sight of a young man making his way towards her.

"May I help you?"

"Detective Jack Williams," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Molly Holmes," she returned with a small smile, taking his hand to shake. "Are you new? I've not seen you around before."

"Just transferred in," he released her hand. "I'm here to see a body."

"Okay, may I see your badge, please." New or not, he was an unknown in her lab and that made her the slightest bit uncomfortable. Molly caught herself twisting her hands together and forced them down to her sides.

"Of course, of course." A badge was produced and flashed too quickly for Molly to get a good look before it was tucked away again. He gestured towards the drawers, obviously wanting Molly to lead the way, but she hesitated a moment more, assessing. Detective Williams was a bit rough around the edges, his hair too long to be professional and his suit in need of pressing. She had the passing urge to call and verify the mans identity, but brushed it aside as paranoia. Perhaps Sherlock's suspicious nature had been rubbing off on her.

She smiled and nodded at the man as she passed him and made her way to the wall of drawers. "Who did you need to see?"

**********

"Sherlock," Molly called from the stairs leading up to 221B, bags hanging from both arms. "Could you give me a hand with these?"

Silence was her answer until she made her way into the kitchen. The find the man in question was elbows deep in his latest experiment and staring at her with wide eyes.

"Never mind," she said with an indulgent smirk, "I've got it."

The bags were dumped onto the counter to keep them separate from Sherlock's mess on the table. One of the first rules that Molly had laid down upon moving into Baker Street had been 'no mixing of food and biohazards'. It had been a battle at first, but Sherlock was mostly abiding by it these days.

"How was your day," he asked as she unloaded the shopping and put it away. "Any interesting bodies you need help with?" He was just itching for a case these days, but crime in London had been slow. A mixed blessing in the Holmes household, to be sure.

"Yes actually, I'm surprised Greg hasn't called you yet," Molly ruffled Sherlock's hair as she leaned over his shoulder, placing a kiss on his cheek and a jar on the table.

"What's this then?" He leaned down, trying to read the label without removing his gloved hands from their mess. "Ears!" His enthusiastic reaction never failed to bring a smile to Molly's face. He was the embodiment of a kid at Christmas. "This is why I love you, you know," he teased.

"I know," she laughed and made her way to the sitting room.

"So, what will Lestrade be calling me about?"

"I don't know if he will," Molly curled herself up on the end of the sofa, Toby joining her after she had settled down. "They've already sent some one down, a new Detective." She stifled a giggle at his raised eyebrow. It was no secret that Sherlock tended to be territorial. "I'm not sure how he'll fair though. He didn't seem interested in some of the more curious features of the report and kept asking the strangest questions."

Sherlock hmm-ed absently, already refocusing on his experiment. "Not likely to make it for very long by the sound of it."

"I would like you to take a look at the report at least, even if Greg doesn't call." Molly absently scratched behind Toby's ears earning her a descent purr. "If I hadn't triple checked my findings I'd think they were false. But it looks like the victims wounds are weeks old, with little to no signs of decay, which could be explained except for the many, many witnesses that had seen the man up and about all that time. It's almost as if, he was killed weeks ago, but didn't die until this morning."

She looked up to find Sherlock's intense stare directed at her. "Tell me about the Detective."

"Well," Molly thought for a moment, "He didn't seem curious what so ever about the injuries. He wanted to know about any odd markings." Her voice turned wry. "I told him three week old fatal injuries on a day old dead man was a bit odd." She gave a small laugh then tilted her head. "He also was quite stuck on the idea of smelling sulfur."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, the rest of his body rigid. "What did you say?"

Molly tried to counter his solemnity with more humor. "I told him that between the morgue, the lab, and your experiments I'm quite use to smelling odd chemicals everywhere," her lips turned down when his expression remained fixed.

"Did he find what he was looking for?" Sherlock looked torn for a moment between withdrawing from his current scientific venture and potentially losing it, or staying where he was. "What did he say before he left?"

Molly was beginning to worry at the line of questioning, her eyebrows drawing down in confusion. "I- I don't know. He gave me his card, told me to call if I noticed anything out of the ordinary."

Sherlock, finally deciding, divested himself of his gloves and made his way to Molly. He sat himself on the table in front of her, his eyes intent. "Molly, I want you to stay away from this." At her continued confusion, he took her hands in his to convey the seriousness of his request. "The body, that man, all of it. Promise me you'll let some one else handle this."

Molly drew one hand away to lay on the side of his face. "You know I can't do that. I can't just push my work onto some one else." She brushed her thumb along his cheekbone. "What's this about, really?"

Sherlock broke eye contact first, looking down and away dislodging her hand from his face. After a moment of debate he looked back at her. "Your Detective Williams, describe him to me."

Molly watched him, trying to decide if this was a diversion or an answer. With Sherlock, the two often went hand in hand. She decided the best way to get an explanation was to play along. "Young, tall, pale coloring, slim. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and his clothes were low end at best." She stopped to think, knowing that he would want every detail. "He had a days worth of stubble. Oh, and I checked his badge, but I didn't really have time enough to do more than verify his picture."

Sherlock waited a beat, then two, to be sure that she was finished. "He was a fake." His voice rang through the silence. "Obviously," he added for good measure.

Molly blinked at him, trying to connect the dots as he saw them. Her first instincts had been correct after all.

"I want you to avoid that man at all costs." Sherlock reclaimed the hand that had fallen from his face. "I've seen his type before; reckless, obsesseive, not caring who gets in the way of his goal."

She could not help but see the irony of his description. Though Sherlock's nature had tamed down some what over the years, there was no arguing that all of those traits still belonged to the man that she had married.

"I don't want you getting hurt." The sincerity in his gaze caused a blush to form on Molly's cheeks.

"I promise," she replied without hesitation. "If he comes back I'll text you and Greg. I promise."

Sherlock said nothing. He pulled her from the couch and into his lap, his arms cocooning her smaller form and simply held her tightly in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to comfort him the only way that she knew how.

**********

The next day at work Molly was hyper aware of her surroundings. She jumped at every noise and caught her breath every time the doors were opened. She knew that she was being silly, Detective Williams had been nothing but polite while he had been there, but what kind of a person pretended to be law enforcement? Besides her husband.

Sherlock came to take a look at the body later that day, but could find no fault in her testing or her final results outside of their unusual nature. By the end of the week she had convinced herself that the whole ordeal was behind her and done with until, halfway through her shift, another odd case came through.

The two victims shared no similarities except for the level of strangeness to their cases. Molly had her phone in hand to text Sherlock, certain that he would be interested in taking a look, when the self-proclaimed detective from days earlier let himself into the morgue. The nature of Molly's text changed rapidly, 'He's here.' She hit send and slipped the phone back into her pocket trusting in Sherlock to alert Greg and to get there as quickly as possible.

"Hello again, Doctor Holmes," he greeted her with a nod. "I hear you've got another one for me."

Molly forced a smile, trying her hardest not to appear suspicious. She had never been the best at acting and had only been able to fool those around her after Sherlock's fall because she had genuinely been mourning his absence. Her legs moved her stiffly towards the man, her hands fidgeted restlessly at her sides. "I guess so." She laughed nervously for a moment, unable to stop herself. Thinking that the best way to buy time would be to play along, she turned abruptly and lead him once more to the refrigerator wall.

"So," her face was beginning to ache from forcing her smile, "I can guess who it is you want to see."

"If you don't mind." He stood relaxed, hands clasped behind his back. She could only hope that he did not suspect anything.

The drawer slid out and she pulled the sheet back. Williams had just opened his mouth to ask a question when the doors flew open with a bang. Sherlock strode in, looking as calm as ever, though Molly could see that he was anything but. His hair was more wild than usual, his cheeks flushed, and she assumed he had run a good way here. Though how he would have had to have been close to make the journey so quickly.

"Molly, dearest," he called as he crossed the room, "Are you ready for lunch?"

They had made no such plans, but she knew enough to play along.

"Just about," she answered, glancing quickly to the man beside her. She watched as Sherlock's eyes flitted over him while he closed the distance, taking in every detail, memorizing, connecting pieces of a puzzle that she could not see. "This is Detective Williams." Molly took a few casual steps forward, closing the distance between herself and Sherlock. This had the added benefit of moving her away from Williams and lessened the knot of tension in her stomach just slightly.

Sherlock looked down at her. His face softened for an instant to the look she knew he reserved only for her. The next moment he was stepping past her, emotionless mask firmly back in place. She noticed that he angled himself to stand between herself and the impostor. She could only hope that Greg would be there soon.

He offered the man his hand. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective."

Williams took the offered hand, his eyes widening with recognition. "Obscero inquit Deus! It's an honor." Sherlock flinched visibly at the man's words and Molly watched as the situation went from strained to strange.

William's held onto Sherlock's hand, his grip tightening. "Problem?" he asked, quickly pulling a flask from his side and flinging the contents at Sherlock. Steam rose from his skin where the fluid had splashed him and Molly panicked, assuming a chemical burn. She rushed at the mad man, pushing him back with all of her might. Luckily, she had surprise on her side, and the man fell back, losing his grip on her husband.

"Who curses in Latin?" Sherlock spat.

Molly spun towards his voice to see to his injuries, but there were none. Sherlock's skin was as flawless as ever, but his eyes... his beautiful ocean colored eyes were pitch black from the iris to the sclera. She faltered in her steps, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

The room went out of focus around the edges when those ebony orbs met her gaze. Sherlock's furious expression shifted to something unrecognizable. She could not look away, not certain what she was seeing. Her eyes closed for a fraction of a second as she blinked and he then was gone. In his place were the smell of sulfur and a dusting of yellow powder on the floor.

Molly stood in shock for a moment. She was brought out of her stupor by the feel of cool water splashing onto her skin. She turned her head to see Williams in an offensive stance, flask in one hand and a dagger with strange markings in the other. Seeing the weapon, Molly instinctively took a step back from the man.

He regarded her with cold eyes before lowering the weapon.

"You're not a demon." His voice held a note of surprise in it.

"I'm sorry. What?" That had been the last thing Molly had expected the man to say.

His posture relaxed and he put the knife away. "Holy water," he shook the flask still in his hand. "It burns demons. Easy way to check."

Molly shook her head. "I don't understand."

The man's expression turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you're husband is possessed by a demon." At her blank look he tried again. "You know; Heaven, Hell, angels, demons, that sort of thing." At her continued silence he shrugged. "Whether you believe it or not's not my problem. Two people are dead and that is."

Molly was finally able to find her voice. "My husband didn't kill anyone." In a while or without good reason, but she left that part unspoken.  
Williams shrugged again. "Maybe not, but that thing inside him did and it needs to be stopped."

A chill ran down Molly's spine. "How?"

He busied himself with putting away the flask, not meeting her eyes. "If I can, I'll exorcise the demon. Send it back to Hell and your Sherlock should be right as rain."  
Molly's hand balled into fists. "And if you can't?"

He met her eyes again, his face hardening. "This'll do the trick." He drew back his coat to flash the blade at his side. "This isn't just any old dagger. Not easy to come by either. But it'll do the job, if needs be. It'll kill the demon for good."

She could finish the thought for herself. "And Sherlock with it."

He nodded. "If it comes to that."

The sound of running feet could be heard in the corridor and Greg finally made his entrance. A half dozen officers swarmed through the doors, guns drawn, and ready to help. Through it all Molly did not utter a word and met all questions with a blank stare. Williams was taken into custody and some one wrapped her in an orange blanket. They thought that she was in shock, and Molly let them believe it. The faster that she could get away from all of this madness the better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still unbeta-ed, unbrit-picked. Small shout out to Rogue Squadron from Star Wars because it fit so well. ^_^

Molly stared blankly out of the car window as London swept past her. Greg had offered to take her home, grumbling under his breath about her missing husband.

"I just don't understand it. He should have been here well before me." He had looked at her sympathetically before leading her out.

Now, the car could not move fast enough for Molly. She needed to get home. She needed an explanation that made sense. She needed her husband. Sherlock's voice drifted through her mind. 'When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth.' Mad was the right word indeed.

The car slowed to a stop in front of 221.

"Do you want me to come up?" Greg turned to face her. "I can wait with you until that burk of a husband of yours shows up."

"No," Molly shook her head. "No, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" He looked uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her on her own. "You seemed to've had a bit of a shock back there."

"I'm sure." Her tone grew stronger as she continued. "I'll have a cuppa with Mrs. Hundson. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure." He still did not look convinced. "Call me if you need anything."

Molly opened her door to get out but paused as Greg spoke again. "One more thing. Give Sherlock a good dressing down for me when he finally shows up again."

She forced a smile onto her face. "I will."

Greg waited until she was inside before driving off. Molly did not even glance at Mrs. Hudson's door. She made her way quietly up the stairs and into her home.

Molly leaned back against the closed door and let her eyes travel over the proof of the life that she had made. Her chair; fluffy and floral, the antithesis of Sherlock's and yet they sat side by side so naturally, as if they were part of a matching set. Her desk; organized and precise. Sherlock's; anything but. Her romance novels and medical journals mixed into the bookcase. The few pictures on the walls that Sherlock had reluctantly agreed to put up. Their wedding photo; small, but sitting in a place of honor on the mantel. The only photograph in the entire flat that Sherlock himself had insisted upon.

Molly wiped tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. This was her life and she was not about to let anyone take it away, demon or no demon. She had faced down a psychopath, not once, but twice. She had helped fake a man's death and kept that secret for years. She had won the heart of a man who claimed not to have one. She was Molly Hooper, damn it! Impossible was her business.

Nodding once to herself she pushed off from the door and booted up her laptop. What she needed was research. The problem was clear, her husband was possessed. Now, all she had to do was find out how to fix it.

**********

One hour, four phone calls, three cups of coffee later, and Molly was ready to pull her hair out. The internet was full of information; the problem being that she could not tell the facts from the fiction. She had tried calling a priest, a psychic, and a self-proclaimed supernatural expert, all with no luck. The fourth call was out of desperation and she only hoped that Sherlock would be able to forgive her for it later.

Molly sat contemplating the merits of tossing her mobile out of the window, when the screen lit up with a call. She debated on not answering but knew that would only result in a personal visit to check in on her.

"Hello John." Molly tried to brighten her voice to its normal chipper tone. She had the passing thought to be thankful that it was John calling and not Mary. That woman's ability to read people was simply uncanny.

"Molly. How are you? Greg just called me." He paused. "He told me about what happened."

She knew that he was fishing for more details but decided to feign ignorance. "Yeah," she laughed, "but really, a man impersonating a detective isn't the strangest thing to have happened in that building."

"That's true," he chuckled weakly before switching tack. "Have you heard from Sherlock lately? He isn't answering his mobile."

Molly hesitated. If she said no, John would start looking for Sherlock. If she said yes, he might press to talk to him. She decided to take her chances.

"Actually I have, just a bit ago. He may have found a case and wanted to check on some of the details before he gave you a call." John was silent. "You know how he is." She held her breath, hoping that he would buy it.

"Yeah, I do." She could hear the doubt in his voice. "Have him call as soon as he gets in, would you?"

"Of course." Her free hand had started to tremble and she shook it to stop the movement. "Listen John, I've got to go. All my love to Mary and the little one."

"Right." Another pause. "Molly. Stay safe. And you know that you can call me or Mary for anything, don't you? Anything at all."

"I know. Thank you." Molly had to fight against tears again as she disconnected the call. It had been a long time since she had had anyone that she could count as family. Sherlock had given her that, had shared his family with her. Sometimes she still forgot what that meant, and it was nice to be reminded.

Molly took a deep breath, steeling her resolve.

"Right then," she said to the room. Toby responded with a soft meow. "It seems like the only one who knows anything about this is that man Williams," she told the cat as she filled his food dish. "Guess I'll just have to pay him a visit."

Molly gave a small shriek and dropped the dish in her hand when she turned around and found Sherlock standing directly behind her. Little bits of kibble spread across the floor unnoticed. They stood staring at one another for a handful of seconds and Molly fought the urge to throw herself into his arms. She reminded herself that this was not her husband. This creature had killed two people.

"I know what you are." She kept her voice calm and controlled, although she felt anything but.

The demon's gaze bore into her from Sherlock's eyes. "I promise you, whatever you think you know about the situation, you are mistaken."

Molly bristled and years of habit had her responding to his condescending tone before she could think better of it. "So you're not a demon escaped from Hell, then?"

His stoic expression cracked for a moment and one side of his mouth twitched up in a smirk.

"Well," he pitched his voice high and drew out the word in the way that Sherlock would do sometimes to be playful.

"Stop it," she ordered. "I don't care who you are or what you are. I want my husband back."

The demon took a step towards her and Molly retreated as far as she could in the small space of the kitchen, cat food crunching under their feet.

"Molly." His voice cracked and she had to remind herself again that this was not her husband.

"Don't," she pleaded when he reached a hand out to her. "Please don't. Just stop pretending that you're him!"

The demon let his hand drop and took a step back. "I'm not pretending. I am your husband."

"Why are you doing this?" Her tone was desperate. "Just let him go. Please." The last word caught on a sob and Molly fought to control her emotions.

His brows furrowed in frustration. "There is no letting go! There is no 'him'. I am not possessed!"

"But you just admitted it!" Molly could feel her own frustration emerging from the storm of emotion inside of her. She took stock of her position and found that she had inadvertently backed herself into a corner. "There are ways to force you out," she threatened. "I've got help on the way and they'll exorcise you."

"For God's sake! I am not possessed by a demon!" Closing the distance between them he grabbed her by the arms and gave her one good shake. "I am the demon!"

Silence settled between them as his words sank in. Sherlock seemed to realize that he was manhandling her and let her go. Molly's phone rang from the sitting room and she let her eyes drift past him. It was Greg, probably calling to check up on her.

"Leave it. Please," he added as an afterthought. "Just give me a chance to explain." She evaluated her situation again, and not really having a choice, nodded for him to continue.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes died as a child." The man, creature, in front of her began to pace in the small space, his hands raking through his hair. "he had run away from home after the loss of his beloved dog and I found him broken and bleeding in the woods." He stopped his anxious movement and faced her again. "The boy did end up dying but I was able to save the body. I have been in 'possession'," he sneered the word, "ever since. If you exorcise me, there will be nothing left."

Molly could feel her legs turn wobbly and she sank to the floor. "Why?" Her question was nothing more than a whisper. Sherlock kept his distance, though it was clearly a struggle for him.

"To relieve the boredom," he answered with a shrug. "I am old, Molly." He spoke softly now. "I have lived many lifetimes and done truly horrible things." He met her gaze unflinchingly. "I am tired, and trying to make emends in the only way that I know how." His fingers tapped unconsciously at his side. "Every case that I solve, every person that I help, brings me that much closer to redemption." he took a breath. "In the beginning it was only about escaping from Hell for good; but you, you and John, have made me want to do better, to be better. You have given me the one thing that I needed in order to succeed. You have given me back my humanity." He crouched down in front of her. "For the first time in eternity, I have hope. You have given me that."

Molly searched his face, desperately trying to gauge his sincerity. "Did you kill those people?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "I did not. But I knew that Hunters would be near by and I didn't want you involved."

"How can I believe a word that you've said to me?" There were tears in her voice again. "If what you're saying is true, then how can I trust anything you say ever again?" A tear finally broke past her defenses, then two. "Do you really love me, or have you been pretending this whole time?" She could see her words hurting him, but needed to continue. "Are you even capable of love?"

Sherlock drew back slightly, sitting on his heels. "I was human, once upon a time." He spoke slowly, measuring every word with care. "So long ago, I can't even remember my name. I don't remember that life at all, only what came after." His eyes unfocused as his mind drifted back. "My new life began in indescribable torment. Fire and pain; that is how a demon is born, and I wanted nothing more than to escape." His gaze focused back on Molly's face and the present. "I have stayed hidden from Heaven and Hell for centuries by refusing to use my powers, but I would go back in an instant if it meant saving you."

Molly stared into his eyes; eyes that she had loved for so very long. She thought back to her first memories of Sherlock and of how much he had changed in the years since then. She reached a hand out to lay on his cheek and he covered it with one of his own.

Molly opened her mouth to speak but found her train of thought derailed. Over Sherlock's shoulder she could see Williams standing in the sitting room, gun drawn and raised. She could do no more than shout an objection before the trigger was pulled and Sherlock was sprawled across her lap.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherlock?" Molly felt panic for a fraction of a second before it was squashed beneath years of hard earned medical training. Her patients may not be living anymore, but she was still a doctor. One arm held Sherlock to her while the other darted to his neck to check for a pulse; slow, but steady. Her hand traveled down his back to assess the wound. Instead of the expected sticky moisture of blood, her hand brushed against soft and fluffy. Confused, she pulled what looked to be a feathered dart from Sherlock's back.

"It's just a tranquilizer," Williams reassured her as he made his way over. "My own mixture. Sedative and holy water." His proud tone rubbed at Molly the wrong way and all of her anger, all of her frustration at the situation, came rushing back.

Molly had never considered herself to be a violent person, but in that moment something within her snapped. Her vision tunneled at the edges and, half hugging Sherlock's limp form to her body, she lunged at the man kneeling beside her. He anticipated the move and easily dodged her fist, raising his own hands in a placating manner.

"I'm trying to help," he pleaded. "The effects won't last long, and when this is over you'll have your husband back, good as new."

Molly was breathing heavily. She tried to calm herself before she ran the risk of hyperventilating. Think! She needed to think. She had to stop Williams from exorcising Sherlock. She needed time.

She nodded. "Sorry. Sorry. Help me lay him down," Molly asked and the young man moved to assist. Free from Sherlock's weight, she stood.

Williams began to intone in Latin and Molly's eyes raced wildly around the room. She edged her way around the hunter to stand behind him. Her hands closed around one of the beakers still set out on the table from earlier. Taking a deep breath, she smashed it against the man's skull as hard as she could. The glass shattered and Williams stopped chanting, more surprised than dazed. Molly reached for another make-shift weapon, adrenaline pumping through her system, but Williams' hands shot to stop her.

He grabbed both of her wrists. "What are you doing?" He seemed genuinely confused and Molly felt a flash of guilt. The young man was only trying to help.

"You can't do this." Maybe if she explained the situation he would understand and leave. Her husband was not the murderer that he was searching for, surely he would be more interested in finding the culprit. Sherlock shifted and moaned behind Williams and Molly felt the wind rush out of her as the hunter used her distraction to his advantage. They tumbled into the sitting room with an oof. Williams' weight settled on top of Molly and he held her arms above her head. Molly struggled, kicking and bucking as he began to chant again. Words began to flow from her as well. She pleaded for him to stop, she begged for him to understand.

His words did pause at that, and a look of disgust crossed his face. "You're trying to save the demon?" His expression hardened to stone. "You're just as bad as them." He pulled her hands together to hold both wrists in one of his larger ones. "Dangerous." The other, now free, reached for the knife at his belt.

Molly renewed her struggles, calling for Sherlock, hoping that he would recover sooner rather than later. She closed her eyes as the blade came bearing down on her, only to blink them open again as the weight that had pinned her down disappeared.

Sherlock stood, tall and furious; his shark eyes glaring at the man now hanging in midair above her. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the man flying. Williams crashed into the mirror above the fireplace and Molly flinched as glass and debris rained down.

Sherlock was quickly beside her, checking her over for injury. Molly batted his hands aside and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"You saved me," he whispered into her hair. His voice was filled with awe.

"Of course I did." Molly pulled away far enough to look into Sherlock's eyes, once again a beautiful blue-green. "I love you." She smiled. "I'll always save you."

Sherlock pulled her back into his embrace. "My own, personal, guardian angel."

The sound of Williams stirring broke them apart again and together they stood. Sherlock towered over the man lying in front of them while Molly clutched the shirt at his back and peered around his larger form.

"How dare you," Sherlock's voice was a low rumble and the man on the floor sat up to glare at them. "You come into my home, attack my wife." Sherlock's hands clenched tightly into fists and Williams began to struggle, unable to breath. He brought his hands up to claw at his throat, but I made no difference.

"Sherlock," Molly tugged at his arm, but he ignored her. On the floor, Williams continued his futile efforts to pull away invisible hands. "Sherlock!" She tried moving around him, but he moved one arm to stop her. Molly watched in horror as her husband strangled a man without laying a hand on him. "Please," she begged, "you have to stop."

Williams flung out an arm in vain, gasping and flailing. His hand settled on the nearest solid object to him and he flung it at Sherlock. The small frame bounced harmlessly off of Sherlock's chest and he looked down to see the photograph of his and Molly's wedding at his feet. Molly used his moment of distraction to step around him.

"It's okay, Sherlock." she lay both hands against his face, forcing his gaze from the photo to herself. Slowly, he placed his larger hands on her waist and she smiled in relief at the contact. "It's going to be okay."

The heavy pressure that had built in the air around them began to dissipate and Sherlock finally focused on Molly's face. She could see the shame in his eyes at the realization of what he had almost done, what he had almost let himself become again.

"You're making a mistake." At the sound of Williams' scratchy voice, Molly turned to face him. "You've just lost your only chance to save your husband."

Molly kept her place between the two men although she knew that Sherlock was itching to remove her from harms way. His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, his fingers drumming a rhythm that only he could hear.

"This is my husband," she told the hunter calmly. "And I'll not let you take him from me." Sherlock gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and she rested one of her hands over his in reassurance.

"You're either sick in the head or stupid," Williams spat at her, "demons lie."

"So do you, if I remember correctly," she answered easily.

Their exchange was cut short by the sound of the main door opening below and hurried footsteps as they raced up the stairs.

Sherlock looked down once more to the man still kneeling at their feet. "I believe your ride is here."

**********

It was not long after that Lestrade and his men showed up to take Williams into custody once again; the call that Molly had missed having been a warning that the man had escaped. To the Detective Inspector's surprise, Williams was not there. Apparently, the man was on a list of known terrorists and would be 'taken care of', or so Mycroft had assured his sister-in-law as MI-5 agents had carted the furious hunter away.

Now, Molly sat with Sherlock in his chair by the fireplace; she in his lap and both of his arms wrapped possessively around her. She accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Hudson, still feeling guilty that the woman had not let her help clean any of the mess that had been made. The motherly woman had simply clucked her tongue and forbade it after her having had 'such a fright'.

Molly took a long sip of the warm liquid, in part to show her appreciation to the other woman and in part as an excuse to ignore the other occupants of the room. Mrs. Hudson smiled and patted Molly affectionately on the shoulder before fluttering once more about the flat. Sherlock continued to stare half-hearted daggers at the back of Molly's head and she continued not to notice.

"Is anybody going to explain to me what happened here?" The DI crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze bounced from person to person.

John, having been called by Lestrade on his way to Baker Street, just shrugged. "Don't look at me. I know as much as you do."

Sherlock ignored everyone, continuing to focus solely on his wife.

"I cannot believe that you called my brother." His tone was petulant.

Molly swiveled in her seat to face him, causing him to grunt. She looked innocently up at him over the rim of her cup as she took another long sip of her tea and pointedly said nothing.

"It should have been the first thing she had done, not a last minute decision." Mycroft turned from his spot by the window to aim a glare of his own towards Sherlock. "I blame that on your influence."

"MI-5," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "'Special division'," he asked with audible air quotes.

"Of course," Mycroft replied derisively. "One must always be prepared for any eventuality." His words alluded to a deeper meaning.

Sherlock tilted his head in consideration. "You know." At his brothers smug silence, he continued. "How long have you known?"

Mycroft sniffed in reply. "From the beginning, of course."

John's voice cut in, tired of hearing the two speak and knowing that he was missing the the key to make it all make sense. "You're really not going to tell us what's been going on?" He looked down to Molly as the most likely to speak.

She met his eyes with a small smirk and lowered the cup in her hands to answer with a shrug. "Oh, you know how it is. Just another day at Baker Street."


End file.
